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You see the world from here, atop your rock,
Spread wide before you in the summer haze.
So guard this memory, and pray it stays
To comfort you, when like a rust-bound lock,
Time’s distance bars this beauty from your sight
And you must dwell below, confined to earth.
I cannot measure what your heaven’s worth:
Though swearing not to leave without a fight,
Yet you’ll go quietly, and quiet weep
For days spent far from home, and endless nights
Spent staring, not at stars, but at the clock
In some hotel room, wishing you could sleep.
No earthly peace awaits, where you must fall;
You’ll carry it within, or not at all.

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Round, heavy, cold in my hand
One Rhodesian shilling
Smooth in my hand, cold
The classroom bustles around me
Harvey’s coin collection
Brought to school for show and tell
Spilled across the floor
Six kids around sets of three tables
Harvey sat at the end of our set
The coins spilled under our table
I don’t know why I took it
Held it, kept it, pretended not to know
When the teacher offered amnesty
I was terrified, guilty, full of shame
I hid the coin, in a pocket, in a drawer
Tried to forget, and often did
Now and again I still find it
In a box in the garage
Because I still keep it
Because what else can I do?
Facebook has far too many
Harvey Shapiros
If I’m remembering right
If it was his collection after all
And not the tall, blond boy
Whose name I can’t recall
Thinking it over, it might have been
But in my mind, it’s always
Harvey Shapiro
Hot-headed, stubborn, fast-talking
That way he leaned in when he argued
Elbows bent, hands pointed forward
Brilliant, handsome
I’m not sure he ever noticed me
I’m not sure I ever knew
Why I watched him
Why I stole his coin
Round and heavy
Cold in my hand

November, 2016

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The smell of blood is a cast-iron skillet
Salted clean, ready for oil
Our parents preferred non-stick pans
Disposable razors
Free love, if they could afford it
We put our kids in “back to basics”
We sign up for war
We cook with cast-iron

February 26, 2010 (rev. 9/5/2016)

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The bruises are almost gone now;
those were not your fault.
My too-thin skin betrayed me once again,
and kind fingers left unkind marks.
“Pea Princess” you called me;
I’ll bet you don’t remember.
I never forget anything:
Each word, each look,
each touch, the rarest gift.
Everything of mine that once was yours
I know and keep by heart.
But now and then I do forget:
my self, my pride,
tomorrows and yesterday.
All that’s me can disappear,
in your kind and unkind eyes.
Some bruises last longer than others.

If I let myself think of you as
Far away
I’ll lose my edge
My hands might shake
I line up my sights with you
Standing at my shoulder
The baby is pressed to your shoulder
I line up my sights and you
Stand still, as I taught you
Wait, my heart whispers
Wait for the shot
I line up my sights while you are
Still
Waiting
Not far away
Not thinking of leaving me
Not sad
Not having a hard time with the baby
I lean in, lowering my shoulder as
You are here, with me, as
I take the shot
Waiting
Still
I will see you soon
I have to think that way